This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

I’m trying to do something new — and I don’t know what to call it
My unconscious choices on love say much about women and me
Banning access to guns won’t prevent the evil in human hearts
Abortion debate gives us lots of candidates for ‘Idiot of the Year’
Noise of culture isn’t evil, but it drowns out what really matters
You finally have to stop making excuses for people who hurt you
Did GOP and Democrats get their scripts mixed up this time?
When I die, what will I remember? Who won an election or who I loved?